


Value to One

by akitsuko



Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [8]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hotels, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Oblivious Edward Nygma, Oral Sex, Protective Oswald Cobblepot, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Slow Dancing, Smut, Touching, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: "I could come with you. As your plus-one."Edward blinks slowly as he thinks about it. There are no immediately apparent flaws in the suggestion. "You would do that?"Oswald accompanies Edward to a family wedding as his pretend date.  Edward is dreading it for more reasons than one, but it opens his eyes to a truth he's been avoiding.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: A Series of Incredible Tropes [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001790
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107





	Value to One

**Author's Note:**

> #8 - Fake Dating
> 
> The final instalment (maybe) of my tropes series. I took a break when I hit the 50k words mark, and only just managed to sit down and finish it. I love the fake dating trope, but I feel like I've made a mess of writing it. Soz y'all. Also sorry for any mistakes, I have a new phone and it's crazy on the autocorrect. 
> 
> In unrelated news, it's my birthday on Wednesday.

"You don't have to go, you know."

Oswald's voice cuts through Edward's focus, making him pause in his aggressive suitcase packing as he heaves a frustrated sigh. "It will be better in the long term if I do. My extended family don't mind that I moved away, but I'll never hear the end of it if I shun a wedding. As long as I show my face, they'll be fine, but if I don't, I'll hear from them endlessly, which is more hassle than it's worth."

"I don't see why they would care. This invitation aside, when was the last time you heard from a single relative?" 

"It's been a long time," Edward admits. He's never spoken to Oswald in detail about his family, only enough to make it clear that he usually has no contact with any of them and he prefers it that way. "But I know what they're like. This branch especially."

Oswald hums from the chair he's lounging in. "Perhaps it won't be as unbearable as you think."

Edward scoffs. "It's going to be hell on earth. A whole weekend at a wedding, surrounded by strangers and people I hate. I shall have to make small talk with family members who pretend they're pleased to see me. As if that weren't enough, I will also need to endure the repetitive torture of being asked why I didn't bring a plus-one.  _ Actually, Aunt Dahlia, _ " he mimics, " _ I didn't bring a girlfriend because I killed the last one, as well as a couple of other people, and then I spent some time in an asylum, so now no one will come near me." _

"Ah," Oswald winces. "Yes, I can see how that might become an issue."

Edward shoves a few grooming products into his case with more ferocity than the situation calls for. "I'm dreading it, Oswald. I'm not sure that I'll manage to come back without a higher body count."

Truthfully, that isn't even his biggest concern. The worst part about this whole awful situation is that he will inevitably find himself, at some point, face to face with his more immediate family. 

He's not seen, spoken to, or heard from his parents for many years now. He'd moved out of their house as soon as he'd saved up enough money to do it, with barely any warning, and never looked back. In all honesty, his time growing up is a period of his life that he would rather forget, but he knows he will never have that luxury. 

He's a different person now than he was back then. Poor, little Ed was awkward and shy, reserved, lonely, never quite able to fit in. He's grown in spirit and confidence, particularly these past few years, and he knows that he's no longer afraid of whatever his parents might choose to dish out. However, he is afraid that his carefully crafted persona will slip out of his grasp as soon as he sees them and the memories of how they treated him begin to resurface, and that he will revert right back to the downtrodden boy he always used to be.

When he sees them, he wants to be able to rub his success in their faces, to show them that he's worth more than they ever gave him credit for, maybe to prove his superiority with a few choice riddles that they certainly won't be able to solve. But how will he do that if his bones are quivering, and he's shuffling his feet, and his mouth can't form a sentence without stuttering?

"I have a suggestion," Oswald pipes up. "Although, feel free to say if it isn't to your taste."

Edward looks at him expectantly. He's willing to consider anything that might lessen the torment he has coming, no matter how distasteful. 

"I could come with you. As your plus-one." 

Edward blinks slowly as he thinks about it. There are no immediately apparent flaws in the suggestion. "You would do that?" 

"Of course!" Oswald sits up straighter, as if to demonstrate his sincerity. 

"Don't you have other commitments this weekend?" 

Oswald waves his hand dismissively. "Nothing that can't wait. You're my best friend, Ed. If I can make this event any less awful for you by accompanying you, then I would be happy to do so."

Edward wants to leap on the offer, but needs to dispel his remaining scepticism first. "People will assume you're my date," he says, watching Oswald closely for his reaction, but Oswald's expression suggests that he doesn't see that as an issue. 

"Let them," he states firmly. "I'll tell them all what a wonderful partner you are. I'll talk about your ruthless brilliance and your unerring loyalty. I'll make them all regret ever dismissing you as unworthy of their attention."

Oswald's vehemence makes Edward's cheeks start to heat with colour, and he turns back to his suitcase to hide it. He always gets like this when Oswald compliments him, and it's terribly inconvenient. 

And he can't deny that the idea of having Oswald Cobblepot as his date is an appealing one. There will undoubtedly be several attendees who will recognise him as the fearsome Penguin, and it might give people second thoughts about giving Edward any grief if they think he has the favour of a notorious crime lord. Oswald will also provide him with intelligent conversation, which would otherwise be sorely lacking, and will act as protection against any unwanted, lonely mingling. 

"Are you sure? I mean, you would really be OK with pretending?"

Oswald winks at him with a grin. "I'll even throw in a few sloppy cheek kisses to sell it."

Edward's blush intensifies, and he clears his throat. Suddenly his collar feels too tight, and he resists the urge to loosen it. "Thank you, Oswald. Honestly, I would feel better knowing that I wouldn't be alone."

Standing up and limping over to him, Oswald claps a hand on his shoulder. "I know you would do the same for me if I ever needed it. We leave in the morning, is that right? I'll pack a bag."

Once he's left the room, Edward releases tension from his shoulders that he hadn't realised he was holding. He's relieved beyond measure that Oswald will be at his side through what is sure to be the worst weekend of his adult life so far. And, for all intents and purposes, as his date. That thought brings a dopey smile to his face. 

\--

Oswald still hasn't changed his mind by the morning. In fact, he seems disproportionately enthusiastic about the trip. Perhaps he's just excited to be able to get away from monsters and murder and mayhem for a couple of nights, Edward reasons. 

So they set off as planned, and the drive takes the majority of the day. They stop a few times to eat, taking turns driving, until they finally pull up to the hotel where the wedding will be hosted as the sun is starting to set. They're both a little grouchy, Oswald especially, and Edward finds that he can't really hold that against him. His leg must be aching from being cramped up in the car all day. So Edward grabs both of their bags as Oswald goes in through the main entrance, leaning heavily on his cane, to check them in. 

Edward catches up with him just as the receptionist is handing him a key card. 

"We're on the third floor," Oswald tells him, and Edward cursed himself internally for failing to consider this part of the plan. He's usually so meticulous. 

"I'm sorry, Oswald. I forgot to call ahead and book an extra room for you."

"Don't worry about it, we'll manage. I just want to get up there and order some room service. I'm very keen to eat something that didn't come from a service station."

They take the elevator, and it's a relatively long walk to their room. This hotel is huge and full of grandeur, which would be nice, except Oswald seems to be struggling with every laboured step so neither of them are really able to appreciate it fully.

The room, when they finally get there, is just as ornate and opulent. The double bed takes centre stage. Huge windows overlook the city, framed by heavy, velvet curtains. A comfortable couch sits off to one side, as well as a small table, a vanity station with a chair, and a large wardrobe. A glance into the en-suite bathroom confirms that it is equally pleasing to the eye, and Edward takes note of the enormous bathtub, deciding to make the most of it during their stay. 

While he sets their bags down out of the way, Oswald has already seated himself on the edge of the bed, bad leg outstretched, located a room service menu and started to dial the phone. Edward stands and stares at his back, contemplative. 

It won't be the first time he's shared a bed with Oswald, but on all the occasions before, it's always been very practical. Something feels different about this. It might be because they're about to parade a fake relationship in front of Edward's extended family, but he gets the distinct impression that this has implications of intimacy. 

He doesn't feel as uncomfortable with that as perhaps he ought to, though he worries that Oswald might. 

He unpacks their clothes, storing them properly to minimise wrinkles, and finishes just as Oswald hangs up the phone and turns back to him, already in a noticeably better mood. 

"That's that," he says. "So, is there anything I need to know before tomorrow? Anyone I might want to kill if I speak with them for too long?" 

"Apart from everybody?" Edward huffs and sits on the other side of the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "I don't think so. Just be your charismatic self, and everyone will love you as they always do. With any luck, I'll be able to fade into the background."

"Nonsense!" Oswald declares, reaching across to take his hand. "I intend to show you off, my dear. After all, you are a treasure to me." 

Edward looks down at Oswald's hand, resting firmly atop his own, and then up to Oswald's face. Oswald holds his gaze for a moment, then wrinkles his nose. 

"Was that too much?" he asks, pulling his hand back. "I was practicing for tomorrow. I need to work out the right amount of affection to show you."

Edward laughs to himself, partially relieved and partially… well, he isn't even sure if he can identify anything else he's currently feeling. The closest thing is probably bewilderment.

"Don't concern yourself too much," he says. His hand is cold and empty; he flexes his fingers a few times. "I would like to keep interaction with others to a minimum. Especially with my parents."

Oswald is quiet, waiting for Edward to elaborate, but Edward is hesitant. He knows he needs to give Oswald a minimal amount of information about them, and he's been troubling himself about it all day. It's going to be difficult for Oswald to understand; he may have faced a great deal of animosity throughout his life, but at least both of his parents had loved him wholeheartedly and unconditionally. 

"They are… not good people. I don't want to go into detail, but let's just say that they did not give positive contributions towards my upbringing, and I would be very happy never to see them again."

"I'll skin them," Oswald says, and Edward blinks at him, surprised at the strength of the sentiment showing in Oswald's features. The unquelled fury at the heart of his reputation sparks behind his eyes and tightens in his jaw. "Just say the word. I could even call Victor up here, and we can make it a real murder party."

"That won't be necessary," Edward replies, no matter how appealing the thought is. "I just want them to stay away from us tomorrow."

Oswald looks dubious, but agrees. "Alright. If you're sure. Just remember that I will have no problem with slitting some throats if you change your mind. You're worth so much more than idiots who don't value you like they should."

Edward raises an eyebrow. "Is that more practice for tomorrow?" 

"No, that was me being real with you," Oswald smiles, and Edward can't help but smile back. It strikes him, and not for the first time, how lucky he is to have found a friend like Oswald, who can accept him for who he is, and who isn't afraid to leap to his defence without a second thought. 

It occurs to him in that moment that maybe it won't be so difficult to pretend that he's in a romantic relationship with Oswald tomorrow. They already care deeply for each other, and they share a bond that nobody else seems to understand. As long as they can amplify those qualities, and throw in a few casual touches here and there, they should be golden. 

"I'm lucky to have you," he says, hoping that it will convey the depth of his gratitude, and Oswald beams at him. 

"I'm the lucky one, my friend."

They share a moment of contented silence, then Edward bends down to unlace his shoes while Oswald flops back to lie down on the bed properly. 

"I'm going to go and have a hot bath," Edward announces, toeing his shoes off and standing up with a stretch. "All that travelling has taken it out of me."

"Of course," Oswald replies, already looking like he might fall asleep at any second as he waves Edward off in the direction of the bathroom. "The food should be here by the time you're done."

Edward takes his time, and it feels like bliss to sink into the bubbly water in a tub that actually has room to accommodate his long limbs. He drifts into a mindless haze, only his head poking above the surface of the water as he leans against the back edge. 

He looks like a prune by the time he finally decides he ought to get out. His skin is pink and steaming, and wrinkled on the pads of his fingers and toes. The mirror is fogged over, and so are the lenses of his glasses where he had placed them on the counter, so he wraps himself in a hotel robe (that he's disappointed to find only just reaches his knees) and carries his glasses instead of putting them on. 

The sight that greets him, blurry though it is, makes him laugh under his breath. Oswald is sitting up on the bed, watching the television while he eats something with noodles, surrounded by various other dishes and desserts. He's certainly not scrimped on the room service, and Edward isn't in the least bit surprised. 

Immediately, Oswald invites him to sit in the only space left on the bed. "I was starting to think you might have fallen asleep," he says. "Come, I got enough for both of us. There's moussaka here, grilled chicken here, a kind of lamb stew here…"

As Oswald continues to list the different dishes he's ordered, Edward settles in beside him. It smells delicious, and Oswald was right - it will be nice to eat something other than service station food. If it weren't for the impending wedding, it might almost feel like they were taking a trip just for the fun of it, to enjoy each other's company without the pressures of their everyday lives to get in the way. 

It might all go to hell tomorrow, so Edward decides to make the most of it while it lasts, helping himself to some of the stew and asking about what Oswald has chosen for their evening viewing. 

\--

The ceremony is largely uneventful. Edward notices some of the people he knows whispering to each other in hushed voices when they spot him, and more than a few of them also look at Oswald for a little longer than necessary. Edward isn't sure whether that's because he's with him, or because of how utterly breathtaking he looks. 

Edward has made no special effort with his appearance for this event, but Oswald hasn't held back. He's wearing one of his fanciest suits, purple accents shimmering whenever they catch the light, pinstripes on his waistcoat and a brocade tie in a matching plum shade. He's done his hair immaculately into a well-practiced style, and emphasised his eyes with a touch of dark makeup. Their sea-green hue is already a striking contrast to the rich tones in his clothes, and he's added more subtle details, like his cufflinks and tie pin, to include emeralds, a nod to Edward's favourite colour. A ring on his middle finger, a statement piece, is embedded with a combination of purple and green stones. His cane, Edward notices with an inward smile, is the one with the concealed knife. 

If he actually cared in the slightest about this wedding, Edward might feel underdressed standing next to him. 

They sit next to each other in the audience, and watch his cousin and her fiancé say their vows. They clap politely when everyone else erupts into hoots and cheers at the end, and they make their exit from the crowd of guests as swiftly as possible. 

With Edward leading the way, they head straight for the bar in the ballroom hosting the reception, and Edward wastes no time ordering champagne for the both of them. This is going to be a long and difficult evening, and he would much rather he starts as he means to go on - with alcohol in his system. 

Oswald keeps a careful eye on him, and stays close by his side, only commenting after Edward has drained his first glass and already ordered a second. 

"I'm not sure that getting drunk is the wisest choice you could make."

"Sorry," Edward replies, even as he takes another drink. "I'm more on edge than I anticipated I would be."

Oswald's hand settles into the small of his back, a solid and grounding presence. "You'll be fine. You've got me here with you."

Other guests have started to fill the room, and before Edward can reply, he hears someone call his name, and looks up to see a different cousin making her way over to him and waving. 

"Oh god," he mutters, and then she's there in front of them, a young woman with a sickly sweet smile. 

"Eddie!" she squeals, drawing him into a short hug that he doesn't return. "We were all wondering if you would come. It's been such a long time."

"And yet, sometimes it doesn't feel like long enough," he replies, trying not to sound too scathing. She either doesn't notice his tone or simply ignores it, turning her attention to Oswald and looking him up and down in an obvious appraisal. 

"Who's your friend?" 

His hackles rise at the judgement in her voice. 

"This is my partner, Oswald," he grinds out. "Oswald, this is my cousin, Mel."

Oswald shakes her hand and smiles, bright and wide. "Always a pleasure to meet Eddie's family. And wasn't the ceremony just beautiful?" 

"Yes," she says, and Edward takes some joy out of the fact that she doesn't seem to know how to take Oswald and all his visible eccentricities. "Jennie's been planning it for such a long time now. I'm so happy for her."

"We are, as well." Oswald laces his fingers with Edward's and looks up at him with an expression that can only be described as adoring. "It's already given me some inspirational ideas for the future."

Edward glances at him in alarm. Faking a relationship is one thing, but throwing a potential engagement into the mix? 

Mel takes a moment to process this information too, eventually plastering her false smile back onto her face.

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Should I start watching out for another invitation to arrive?" 

"No," Edward cuts in curtly. "Excuse us, Mel."

He practically drags Oswald to the side of the room for a little privacy away from listening ears, and he hisses, "What are you doing?" 

Oswald slaps his hand away. "Will you just relax? You don't want to speak to anyone, well, I'm taking care of it. All you have to do is smile and nod while I handle all the chit chat. Does the content really matter?" 

"Mel can't keep her mouth shut. Within about ten minutes, everyone here will think I'm engaged to you!" 

Oswald rolls his eyes, clearly thinking that Edward is being overly dramatic. "Who cares?" he argues. "You've made it very clear that these morons aren't important to you, and their opinions certainly aren't important to me. Let them think whatever they want. You're the only one who matters to me."

There's a sincerity beneath the surface quick-fire temper that gives Edward pause. Perhaps he's allowing his anxiety to get the better of him. He's not a little boy anymore, and he doesn't have any obligation to these people. Oswald is right; he doesn't have to appease them. He just has to get through the day without committing homicide or suicide.

"I'm sorry, you're right," he says, secretly enjoying the way Oswaldt raises his eyebrows because  _ that's  _ not something he hears from Edward very often. "The stress is making me snappy. I trust you, Oswald. Although, I did mean it when I said that I wanted to keep interactions to a minimum."

"That could be challenging," Oswald replies, glancing at the door, where guests continue to file into the room. "There are a considerable number of people here, and we've already attracted the attention of a lot of them."

So Oswald had noticed all the whispers and side-looks too. At least, that makes Edward feel less like he's just being paranoid.

"Alright," he concedes. "Let's not stray too far from the drinks. Minimal mingling, and we leave as early as possible. And, please, no more surprises."

A twinkle returns to Oswald's eyes. "Now,  _ that _ , my darling, I certainly cannot promise."

Remaining within arm's reach of the bar, the two of them remain largely uninterrupted for an hour or so. They giggle together as they creep towards tipsy, plotting out the extravagant (though unfortunately hypothetical) murders of fellow guests towards whom Edward harbours particular grudges. A few more extended family members approach them, all false joviality, but the sight of Edward apparently happy and in the company of someone with so commanding a presence as Oswald leaves every one of them apparently imbued with an odd disquiet.

Edward, although he's offended that everybody still has such low expectations for him, has to remind himself that he's vastly different now to the awkward adolescent most of them will remember. If they only knew how gleefully he would slice every single throat in this room.

All but Oswald's, anyway. 

Even when the bride socialises her way to them, she says little more than the bare minimum, thanking them for coming before swiftly moving on. A clear reminder that Edward really is only here out of obligation.

"Well," he says, "we've congratulated the bride. That was the important part. No one will care if we sneak away soon."

He drains his current glass, and Oswald does the same beside him, resting his free hand at the small of Edward's back. The touch is a grounding relief, the warmth of it travelling up the length of Edward's spine.

"Are you sure you don't want to make the most of the buffet before we go?" Oswald gestures over to the decadent spread on display. "Drinking on empty stomachs was probably not the wisest idea."

"I would rather pay for the room service than stay at this reception for a moment longer than necessary."

Oswald smiles up at him, and it strikes Edward how nice it is to be on the receiving end of a genuine smile instead of the forced ones from his family. He smiles back. Just for a moment, it's as if they're alone in the room, and a sense of peace seeps into his soul.

A heavy hand claps down on his shoulder. "Eddie."

And just like that, everything wrong with the world returns. The smile is wiped from his face in an instant. His heart races. That voice alone is enough to fill his body with tension and his consciousness with rage.

He's careful to keep his expression neutral as he turns, despite the way that Oswald's features have creased with concern, and feeling the pressure of Oswald's hand on his back increase.

"Dad."

His father has aged, of course he has, but he's still built like a tank, and it only takes a single glance at his face for Edward to know that absolutely nothing about his character has changed.

His breath comes faster as everything he always tries so hard not to think about comes rushing back to the surface. He's a child again, desperate to believe that he's worth something, while the words and actions of this monster tell him nothing but the opposite.

Before either of them can say another word, however, Oswald has moved to his side, his arm slipping firmly around Edward's waist in a show of support that Edward isn't sure how to handle, although the swell of gratitude he feels is enormous.

His father's eyes track the movement with undisguised disdain. "Still haven't managed to get a girlfriend, huh? Can't say I'm surprised."

Edward forces himself to remain calm, even as Oswald noticeably bristles beside him. "I had rather hoped that I wouldn't have to see you."

"Chance'd be a fine thing, eh?" His father laughs, either oblivious to or uncaring about his discomfort. "Been a long time. So much for parental respect. Still, I kept telling your mother, you kids don't understand having gratitude for the ones who raised you."

Edward clenches his jaw. "I'm not interested in arguing. Leave me alone."

That laugh again, the one so full of superiority and condescension that it makes him feel sick. "Can't a guy just talk to his boy after so many years? Can't take a joke, that's your problem. So, go on then. Who's this?"

He turns his critical gaze to Oswald, making a show of looking him up and down. Rather than having the intimidating effect he no doubt hoped for, it makes Oswald stand ever straighter, completely confident in himself. In that moment, Edward envies him, and wishes he could snatch a little of that confidence for himself. Still, at least this is familiar territory for Oswald; it's going to take far more than an old bully to intimidate the criminal kingpin of Gotham. Edward wonders whether his father is at all aware of the dangerous terrain he's blundered into.

Oswald bares his teeth in one of his more malicious smiles, and pointedly does not extend his hand. "I wish I could say that it's a pleasure to meet you, but alas."

"Feeling's mutual, pal. It's not right, you know. Ain't nothing natural about men marrying men. Because that's what this is, right?" Edward's father sneers, gesturing between the two of them. "Heard Mel talking about it earlier. I always knew you were fucked up in the head, Eddie."

Somehow, Edward is always surprised by how fast Oswald can move when he wants to. In an instant, he's dropped his charade of false cordiality, and there's unbridled rage in his face as he has one hand fisted tightly in his father's collar while the other presses his previously concealed blade against his jugular. And Edward can't help the upward twitch of his lips, both at the sudden fear in his father's face and the wonderful sense of safety he always has in Oswald's presence.

Oswald is here for him. It's a simple truth, and yet it fills him with the most delightful warmth.

In the hubbub of the party around them, no one notices that their little corner has taken on a less than friendly air. Oswald- no,  _ Penguin _ doesn't explode into one of his customary outbursts, but channels his fury entirely at his subject, and Edward very much doubts that his father appreciates how afraid he ought to be.

"I should cut your tongue out where you stand," he hisses, and Edward's father makes a clumsy effort to escape his grip. 

"You goddamn-"

"Shut up!" Penguin increases the pressure of his blade, and it has the desired effect. "I don't know who you are, but more concerning is the fact that you don't seem to know who I am. I am not a man to be crossed, although it's too late for you. You've put yourself in an unenviable position."

This is how Edward likes Oswald best. Radiating power and control, those expressive eyes ablaze, all that violence scarcely contained. He's mesmerising, and his protective defence of Edward is hypnotic.

"You should know that Edward is precious to me," he continues, his voice low and deadly. "He's loyal and beautiful and brilliant, and I intend to dedicate my life to ensuring his happiness. I will not have him insulted. Let me be very clear that to speak against him is to declare war upon us both, and I am not known for taking prisoners. Do I make myself understood?"

His father mutters his assent and Oswald releases him. There's a pause between the three of them, and Edward conceals his anxiety about how his father will respond to being threatened so openly. Oswald puts his blade away, and is the one to break their silence.

"Your presence is unsavoury to my dearest Edward. If you make yourself known to us again, I will personally enjoy removing your limbs. Now, leave us."

Edward almost doesn't think his father will take Oswald seriously, but threats are a language that he seems to understand, and something in his demeanour changes to suggest that he knows not to call this particular bluff. Still, he doesn't hide his disgust. 

"Two freaks in a pod," he murmurs, almost to himself, as he straightens his ill-fitting suit. "How you came out of my gene pool, I'll never know."

Then he's stalking away, and Edward releases a shaky breath that he didn't realise he was holding. Oswald is in front of him immediately, all his fury gone and replaced by compassion as he raises a hand to cup Edward's cheek. Edward gratefully leans into the touch.

"Are you alright?" Oswald asks him, and he nods, although he actually feels quite unwell.

"Can we leave now?"

"My love, of course."

\---

Edward's hands are shaking by the time they get back to the hotel room. The adrenaline is wearing off and he keeps replaying the day's events with a sense of impending catastrophe. He shrugs out of his jacket and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

This was precisely the sort of scenario he'd been hoping to avoid. Old memories, dulled by the passage of time, have been freshly dusted off. He has the unshakeable feeling that it's simply a matter of time before he has to face that man again, and endure the inevitable consequences of his defiance.

The logical reasoning that he will be returning tomorrow with Oswald to Gotham, their home, never to see his father again, isn't helping to shake the sensation of dread.

Oswald sits beside him, close enough that their thighs press together. The contact, warm and familiar, is a blessing.

"I'm so sorry, Ed," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just… glad to be away," Edward replies, trying to will his thrusting pulse into a less frenzied rhythm. "I know it was only a few minutes, but it dredged a few old wounds closer to the surface than I would like."

He can feel Oswald brimming with his own anger still, on Edward's behalf. 

"If there's anything I can do for you…" Oswald trails off, then clears his throat. "I've got half a mind to have him killed. I've had others murdered for lesser offences. The way he spoke to you was unacceptable."

Despite his agitation, this reminder of Oswald's fierce protectiveness has a smile tugging at the corners of Edward's lips. Without thinking, he reaches out to rest a hand on Oswald's knee and squeezes. "I'm in your debt. You were magnificent, and I don't know what I would have done had you not been here with me."

Oswald's hand covers his own, smooth and solid, and his smile makes something flutter in Edward's chest. "I only wish there were more I could do."

Their gazes lock, and Edward feels it almost tangibly, that magnetic pull that keeps him in Oswald's orbit. It steals his breath away. He feels safe, and cared for, and untouchable.

"I would rather forget about it."

Abruptly, Oswald stands, turning to face him and extending his hand. "Dance with me?"

Edward blinks, bewildered by the sudden topic change. "What?"

"I was looking forward to dancing with you at the wedding," Oswald explains. "I used to be quite good, before my leg was wrecked. So, dance with me now instead."

Edward only hesitates for a moment before he takes Oswald's hand. "There isn't any music," he murmurs.

Rolling his eyes, Oswald scrolls through his phone for a few moments, settling on a miscellaneous instrumental piece, slow-paced with the sounds of piano and violin. Then he tosses his phone aside and tugs Edward closer to him, slipping his free hand onto Edward's shoulder. Almost on autopilot, Edward settles himself into what he supposes is an approximation of a dancer's position.

This close, he has to look down to see Oswald's face. He can feel the body heat through their clothes, and it's an incredible distraction from… well, everything. "I'm not much of a dancer," he says, his voice sounding deeper than he expected, but Oswald only beams at him.

"I don't care. This is fine."

It's little more than swaying together, with Oswald's unsteady leg and Edward's inexplicable nerves, but somehow it's also exactly what Edward needs. The proximity and touch of his best and only friend in the world, it's a tonic for his soul. He breathes deeply, most of his awareness focused on ensuring Oswald doesn't stumble, and his leftover attention simply taking it all in.

It feels… really nice.

"Thank you, Oswald," he says, quiet. "I know it was all fake, today. But I appreciated it nonetheless. The way you talked about me. No one has ever so vehemently insisted that I was worth something."

He knows that he wouldn't usually be so open about something like this, and it's probably the alcohol still in his system, but right now he just doesn't feel that being vulnerable with Oswald is a bad thing.

Oswald threads the fingers of their clasped hands together. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Edward nods.

"I meant every word," Oswald says, his eyes glassy and sincere. "You're special, Ed. And I will tell you so every day, if you'll let me."

Edward's heart jumps in his chest and his breath catches in his throat. He takes in every detail of Oswald's face, inches away from his own, and he's only marginally surprised to realise that  _ yes, _ he wants that. He can't imagine ever needing for anything ever again as long as he has Oswald making him feel like he matters. And it seems so obvious now, he can hardly believe it's eluded him for so long. The feeling he gets when he's with Oswald, the one that makes him blush and squirm sometimes like an awkward teenager, the one that he's never quite known how to identify… it's  _ longing _ .

"I'd like that," he answers. Then he dips his head to kiss Oswald's lips, absorbing the surprised gasp it earns him.

They've stopped their slow dance, and it takes Oswald a moment, but soon a moan rumbles from his throat as he reciprocates. He surges into Edward, holding onto him tight, pressing their bodies together from their shoulders to their hips.

Edward can honestly say that he's never thought about doing this before. He's never considered that he might want to kiss Oswald. Now that he's doing it, he finds himself frustrated and aching that he hadn't thought to do it sooner. Still almost an innocent act, and yet it consumes him, amplified by the trust that Oswald would do anything for him. He only hopes he's pouring the same sentiment back into it, because it's the truth; he knows, unflinchingly, that he would die for Oswald.

Their lips part just barely, their chests still touching, their legs almost tangled. Then Oswald opens his eyes, and gazes up at him, nothing short of adoration on his features. "Ed…"

All Edward can do is kiss him again, swallowing his whimper, and at that moment all logical thought abandons him, leaving him at the mercy of something more carnal.

He licks into Oswald's mouth, soft lips parting willingly for him, filled with a need to taste him. He can't decide what to do with his hands; he strokes and gropes and grabs wherever he can reach, digging in his nails and pulling Oswald into him. Fortunately, Oswald is no less eager, the fingers of one hand threading into Edward's hair to keep his head in place, the other raking up and down his back, along the bumps of his spine. He's so strong, and it's utterly intoxicating. The women Edward has kissed before have always seemed so fragile, breakable. 

Not Oswald. He will give as good as he gets.

By the time their lips next part, Edward is on his back on the hotel bed, caged between Oswald's limbs, inhaling great lungfuls of air as though he's suffocating. They've both kicked their shoes off and they're down to their shirt sleeves, outer layers carelessly shed. And Edward can't help but stare, because Oswald looks phenomenal like this, dishevelled and desperate, a flush high on his cheeks and his lips darkened and shiny.

Oswald slips free the first few buttons of Edward's shirt with deft fingers, then wrenches the collar aside to plant his mouth on the newly exposed skin. Just above Edward's collarbone, he licks and sucks until Edward is writhing, and he can feel the tingling sensation of a hickey. Of all things, this is what makes the tips of his ears burn with his blush; he's only ever had one love bite before, and that was back in high school. Having Oswald's mark on him makes him feel giddy.

"Oh my," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Oswald's waist, tilting his head back. Oswald takes that as an invitation to make his way up the column of his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin with a reverence that makes Edward shudder. Then Oswald's hand is cradling his jaw and they're kissing again. Edward finds that he can't get enough of Oswald's mouth. He's starving for it, a full body craving that he doubts will ever be satisfied. He wants to devour him, and be devoured in turn.

"Oh, darling," Oswald gasps between kisses. "You're perfect. So perfect."

Edward pulls him down until Oswald's weight is an anchor atop him, and he can feel the unmistakable press of his erection against his hip. It ought to be shocking, but he's hard himself, and the friction of Oswald's body against him is too distracting. He bucks his hips upwards, chasing that pressure, and he gets a delightful mewl out of Oswald in response as well as a returning thrust. They lose themselves for a while in a feedback loop, rutting against each other in a manner more reminiscent of randy teenagers than grown men. It only ends when Oswald bites down on Edward's lower lip before yanking himself upwards and away. Edward whines at the loss of contact before he can stop himself.

"Ed, I…" Oswald needs to take a breath and compose himself before he can speak with any coherency. "I want to… I want to suck you."

Edward has to close his eyes tight against the wave of arousal that courses through him at those words. How has he never thought about this before? It seems inconceivable now, with Oswald draped across him and offering, that he's been so ignorant of the appeal.

When he realises that Oswald has paused, presumably waiting for permission to proceed, he swallows hard and nods quickly. "Please," he says. "Do that."

Oswald doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles down Edward's body, stopping on his way to tug Edward's shirt loose from his trousers and lavish attention over his abdomen. His fingers hook into Edward's waistband, a tease of what's to come, and Edward wants to watch but the sight is so erotic that it threatens to overwhelm him. He directs his unfocused gaze at the ceiling instead, and concentrates on the feeling.

He forces his legs to cooperate as Oswald wrestles his pants down to his knees, but nothing could have prepared him for the first touch of Oswald's mouth against his dick. His jaw shakes and he bites down on his tongue as Oswald explores him, leisurely and more skilled than he has any right to be. For a moment, Edward is overcome by a surge of possessive and irrational jealousy, at the thought that Oswald has probably done this to other men before him. He groans, low and hoarse, as he feels Oswald engulf him, and all thoughts of other men are gone just as quickly as they came.

Oswald wraps a hand around everything his mouth can't reach, spraying his free hand on Edward's belly. He sucks Edward like it's his calling in life, cheeks hollowed, tongue working, and when Edward can't hold back his aborted thrusts upwards any longer, he just moans and goes with it. 

Stars burst behind Edward's eyelids, and all too soon he feels the stirrings of his climax coiling within him. "I'm close," he grinds out, but it makes no difference to Oswald, apparently just as lost in his own enjoyment. He scrapes his teeth along the underside, and that does it for Edward. He comes with a deep and drawn out moan, pulsing hot inside Oswald's mouth, every muscle in his body tense until he finally falls back to the mattress, limp and spent.

He's too dopey from the organic high to notice whether or not Oswald swallows.

The next thing he knows, Oswald is looming back over him, the expression on his face smug and satisfied. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he says, resting a hand on Edward's chest. "You taste great."

If Edward were capable of getting another erection so soon, those words would have done it. His attention moves to the tent in Oswald's trousers, and he doesn't hesitate to reach out and unbuckle his belt. "I've never done this with a man," he feels the need to clarify, but Oswald just laughs breathlessly, allowing Edward to undress him.

"It's not going to take much-  _ oh, god _ ," he cuts himself off, throwing his head back as Edward curls his fingers around the flesh of his cock.

It's different and yet so familiar to touching himself, Edward thinks. He takes a few seconds to enjoy the novelty, to remind himself that this is really happening, before launching into an earnest exploration of which touches and movements elicit the best reactions.

Oswald is vocal in his enjoyment, whining as Edward strokes and squeezes, fisting his hand with a white-knuckled grip in the front of Edward's shirt. It's only a couple of minutes before he comes too, shaking with the force of it, his ejaculate covering Edward's fingers and stomach.

They enjoy the afterglow where they are until Oswald shifts to one side and collapses next to Edward, giving them both a chance to catch their breath. Edward raises his hand to look at the sticky fluid on his fingers and, though he couldn't say what possesses him to do it, touches his index finger to his tongue for a taste. Bitter and salty, he realises, and with a very odd consistency. He wipes the rest off on the side of the mattress. 

"Well," Oswald breaks the silence. "That happened."

For once in his life, Edward isn't sure what to say. He needs a chance to organise his thoughts in light of this new development. So he simply shifts closer to Oswald, until their sides are pressed together, and he hopes that the gesture will convey the sentiment that he hasn't yet found the words for.

Oswald trails a finger, feather light, along his ribs in response.

\---

When Edward wakes up the following morning, his first thought is that he is far too hot. He realises, quickly, that he's hot because of the body plastered against his side, the arm thrown across his torso, the thigh draped over his legs. A turn of his head, and his nose is buried in wild, black hair, crunchy with leftover product.

This would be the time to freak out, he thinks. But instead, he just feels… calm. He feels, for once, like he's right where he's supposed to be.

He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes again, tightening his own arm around Oswald's shoulders.


End file.
